For the ULCC Writers Group

She slept in their old wedding bed, now that her parents preferred twin beds. Her bedroom’s dim light played with a floral wallpaper pattern on the wall facing her bed; she imagined little devil heads shaking and winking at her.

Shades darkening her room skimmed the bottom of windows that faced the backyard. A large black and yellow poster was attached to her bedroom door—“Keep Out! Quarantine!” it   warned.  

Mostly she slept, waking occasionally to the feel of a cold washcloth or an icepack on her forehead. Her mother urged her to lie quietly, “Measles can blind you,” she said. “Here, you have to take a pill.” She propped the little girl up with pillows and asked her to stick out her tongue. “Now, swallow this with the water.”

She gagged and spit out the capsule. Her mother caught it. She wiped the girl’s mouth and left. Soon her mother was back with a bowl of apple sauce. “This should taste better.”

The capsule powder mixed with applesauce smelled like rotten eggs. The girl held her breath and swallowed every spoonful. Her relief was temporary. Applesauce returned several times before the day ended. To compensate, her mother also brought small bowls of vanilla or Neapolitan ice cream daily. From then on and for years, the girl detested applesauce, but adored ice cream.

Weeks passed, and the little girl had almost recovered. Still confined to her bed, she amused herself with paper dolls, new sets of which appeared almost every day for a week. When she had recovered fully and was about to return to school, the girl stacked her paper doll sets neatly on her desk. She would return to them often, and later to puppets, and much later to storytelling in print. Her love of ice cream also persisted.